The Great Controversy chapter 12

The French Reformation

The Protest of Spires and the Confession at Augsburg, which
marked the triumph of the Reformation in Germany, were followed
by years of conflict and darkness. Weakened by divisions among
its supporters, and assailed by powerful foes, Protestantism seemed
destined to be utterly destroyed. Thousands sealed their testimony
with their blood. Civil war broke out; the Protestant cause was
betrayed by one of its leading adherents; the noblest of the reformed
princes fell into the hands of the emperor and were dragged as
captives from town to town. But in the moment of his apparent
triumph, the emperor was smitten with defeat. He saw the prey
wrested from his grasp, and he was forced at last to grant toleration
to the doctrines which it had been the ambition of his life to
destroy. He had staked his kingdom, his treasures, and life itself
upon the crushing out of the heresy. Now he saw his armies wasted
by battle, his treasuries drained, his many kingdoms threatened
by revolt, while everywhere the faith which he had vainly endeavored
to suppress, was extending. Charles V had been battling against
omnipotent power. God had said, "Let there be light,"
but the emperor had sought to keep the darkness unbroken. His
purposes had failed; and in premature old age, worn out with the
long struggle, he abdicated the throne and buried himself in a
cloister.

In Switzerland, as in Germany, there came dark days for the
Reformation. While many cantons accepted the reformed faith, others clung with blind persistence to the creed of
Rome. Their persecution of those who desired to receive the truth
finally gave rise to civil war. Zwingli and many who had united
with him in reform fell on the bloody field of Cappel. Oecolampadius,
overcome by these terrible disasters, soon after died. Rome was
triumphant, and in many places seemed about to recover all that
she had lost. But He whose counsels are from everlasting had not
forsaken His cause or His people. His hand would bring deliverance
for them. In other lands He had raised up laborers to carry forward
the reform.

In France, before the name of Luther had been heard as a Reformer,
the day had already begun to break. One of the first to catch
the light was the aged Lefevre, a man of extensive learning, a
professor in the University of Paris, and a sincere and zealous
papist. In his researches into ancient literature his attention
was directed to the Bible, and he introduced its study among his
students.

Lefevre was an enthusiastic adorer of the saints, and he had
undertaken to prepare a history of the saints and martyrs as given
in the legends of the church. This was a work which involved great
labor; but he had already made considerable progress in it, when,
thinking that he might obtain useful assistance from the Bible,
he began its study with this object. Here indeed he found saints
brought to view, but not such as figured in the Roman calendar.
A flood of divine light broke in upon his mind. In amazement and
disgust he turned away from his self-appointed task and devoted
himself to the word of God. The precious truths which he there
discovered he soon began to teach.

In 1512, before either Luther or Zwingli had begun the work
of reform, Lefevre wrote: "It is God who gives us, by faith,
that righteousness which by grace alone justifies to eternal life."--Wylie,
b. 13, ch. 1. Dwelling upon the mysteries of redemption, he exclaimed:
"Oh, the unspeakable greatness of that exchange,--the Sinless
One is condemned, and he who is guilty goes free; the Blessing bears the curse,
and the cursed is brought into blessing; the Life dies, and the
dead live; the Glory is whelmed in darkness, and he who knew nothing
but confusion of face is clothed with glory."-- D'Aubigne,
London ed., b. 12, ch. 2.

And while teaching that the glory of salvation belongs solely
to God, he also declared that the duty of obedience belongs to
man. "If thou art a member of Christ's church," he said,
"thou art a member of His body; if thou art of His body,
then thou art full of the divine nature. . . . Oh, if men could
but enter into the understanding of this privilege, how purely,
chastely, and holily would they live, and how contemptible, when
compared with the glory within them,-- that glory which the eye
of flesh cannot see,--would they deem all the glory of this world."--Ibid.,
b. 12, ch. 2.

There were some among Lefevre's students who listened eagerly
to his words, and who, long after the teacher's voice should be
silenced, were to continue to declare the truth. Such was William Farel. The son of pious parents, and educated to accept with implicit
faith the teachings of the church, he might, with the apostle
Paul, have declared concerning himself: "After the most straitest
sect of our religion I lived a Pharisee." Acts 26:5. A devoted
Romanist, he burned with zeal to destroy all who should dare to
oppose the church. "I would gnash my teeth like a furious
wolf," he afterward said, referring to this period of his
life, "when I heard anyone speaking against the pope."--Wylie,
b. 13, ch. 2. He had been untiring in his adoration of the saints,
in company with Lefevre making the round of the churches of Paris,
worshipping at the altars, and adorning with gifts the holy shrines.
But these observances could not bring peace of soul. Conviction
of sin fastened upon him, which all the acts of penance that he
practiced failed to banish. As to a voice from heaven he listened
to the Reformer's words: "Salvation is of grace." "The
Innocent One is condemned, and the criminal is acquitted."
"It is the cross of Christ alone that openeth the gates of heaven, and shutteth the gates of hell."
--Ibid., b. 13, ch. 2.

Farel joyfully accepted the truth. By a conversion like that
of Paul he turned from the bondage of tradition to the liberty
of the sons of God. "Instead of the murderous heart of a
ravening wolf," he came back, he says, "quietly like
a meek and harmless lamb, having his heart entirely withdrawn
from the pope, and given to Jesus Christ."--D'Aubigne, b.
12, ch. 3.

While Lefevre continued to spread the light among his students,
Farel, as zealous in the cause of Christ as he had been in that
of the pope, went forth to declare the truth in public. A dignitary
of the church, the bishop of Meaux, soon after united with them.
Other teachers who ranked high for their ability and learning
joined in proclaiming the gospel, and it won adherents among all
classes, from the homes of artisans and peasants to the palace
of the king. The sister of Francis I, then the reigning monarch,
accepted the reformed faith. The king himself, and the queen mother,
appeared for a time to regard it with favor, and with high hopes
the Reformers looked forward to the time when France should be
won to the gospel.

But their hopes were not to be realized. Trial and persecution
awaited the disciples of Christ. This, however, was mercifully
veiled from their eyes. A time of peace intervened, that they
might gain strength to meet the tempest; and the Reformation made
rapid progress. The bishop of Meaux labored zealously in his own
diocese to instruct both the clergy and the people. Ignorant and
immoral priests were removed, and, so far as possible, replaced
by men of learning and piety. The bishop greatly desired that
his people might have access to the word of God for themselves,
and this was soon accomplished. Lefevre undertook the translation
of the New Testament; and at the very time when Luther's German
Bible was issuing from the press in Wittenberg, the French New
Testament was published at Meaux. The bishop spared no labor or
expense to circulate it in his parishes, and soon the peasants of Meaux were in possession of the Holy Scriptures.

As travelers perishing from thirst welcome with joy a living
water spring, so did these souls receive the message of heaven.
The laborers in the field, the artisans in the workshop, cheered
their daily toil by talking of the precious truths of the Bible.
At evening, instead of resorting to the wine-shops, they assembled
in one another's homes to read God's word and join in prayer and
praise. A great change was soon manifest in these communities.
Though belonging to the humblest class, an unlearned and hard-working
peasantry, the reforming, uplifting power of divine grace was
seen in their lives. Humble, loving, and holy, they stood as witnesses
to what the gospel will accomplish for those who receive it in
sincerity.

The light kindled at Meaux shed its beams afar. Every day the
number of converts was increasing. The rage of the hierarchy was
for a time held in check by the king, who despised the narrow
bigotry of the monks; but the papal leaders finally prevailed.
Now the stake was set up. The bishop of Meaux, forced to choose
between the fire and recantation, accepted the easier path; but
notwithstanding the leader's fall, his flock remained steadfast.
Many witnessed for the truth amid the flames. By their courage
and fidelity at the stake, these humble Christians spoke to thousands
who in days of peace had never heard their testimony.

It was not alone the humble and the poor that amid suffering
and scorn dared to bear witness for Christ. In the lordly halls
of the castle and the palace there were kingly souls by whom truth
was valued above wealth or rank or even life. Kingly armor concealed
a loftier and more steadfast spirit than did the bishop's robe
and miter. Louis de Berquin was of noble birth. A brave and courtly
knight, he was devoted to study, polished in manners, and of blameless
morals. "He was," says a writer, "a great follower
of the papistical constitutions, and a great hearer of masses
and sermons; . . . and he crowned all his other virtues by holding
Lutheranism in special abhorrence." But, like so many others, providentially
guided to the Bible, he was amazed to find there, "not the
doctrines of Rome, but the doctrines of Luther."--Wylie,
b. 13, ch. 9. Henceforth he gave himself with entire devotion
to the cause of the gospel.

"The most learned of the nobles of France," his genius
and eloquence, his indomitable courage and heroic zeal, and his
influence at court,--for he was a favorite with the king,-- caused
him to be regarded by many as one destined to be the Reformer
of his country. Said Beza: "Berquin would have been a second
Luther, had he found in Francis I a second elector." "He
is worse than Luther," cried the papists.--Ibid., b. 13,
ch. 9. More dreaded he was indeed by the Romanists of France.
They thrust him into prison as a heretic, but he was set at liberty
by the king. For years the struggle continued. Francis, wavering
between Rome and the Reformation, alternately tolerated and restrained
the fierce zeal of the monks. Berquin was three times imprisoned
by the papal authorities, only to be released by the monarch,
who, in admiration of his genius and his nobility of character,
refused to sacrifice him to the malice of the hierarchy.

Berquin was repeatedly warned of the danger that threatened
him in France, and urged to follow the steps of those who had
found safety in voluntary exile. The timid and time-serving Erasmus,
who with all the splendor of his scholarship failed of that moral
greatness which holds life and honor subservient to truth, wrote
to Berquin: "Ask to be sent as ambassador to some foreign
country; go and travel in Germany. You know Beda and such as he--he
is a thousand-headed monster, darting venom on every side. Your
enemies are named legion. Were your cause better than that of
Jesus Christ, they will not let you go till they have miserably
destroyed you. Do not trust too much to the king's protection.
At all events, do not compromise me with the faculty of theology."--Ibid.,
b. 13, ch. 9.

But as dangers thickened, Berquin's zeal only waxed the stronger.
So far from adopting the politic and self-serving counsel of Erasmus, he determined upon still bolder measures.
He would not only stand in defense of the truth, but he would
attack error. The charge of heresy which the Romanists were seeking
to fasten upon him, he would rivet upon them. The most active
and bitter of his opponents were the learned doctors and monks
of the theological department in the great University of Paris,
one of the highest ecclesiastical authorities both in the city
and the nation. From the writings of these doctors, Berquin drew
twelve propositions which he publicly declared to be "opposed
to the Bible, and heretical;" and he appealed to the king
to act as judge in the controversy.

The monarch, not loath to bring into contrast the power and
acuteness of the opposing champions, and glad of an opportunity
of humbling the pride of these haughty monks, bade the Romanists
defend their cause by the Bible. This weapon, they well knew,
would avail them little; imprisonment, torture, and the stake
were arms which they better understood how to wield. Now the tables
were turned, and they saw themselves about to fall into the pit
into which they had hoped to plunge Berquin. In amazement they
looked about them for some way of escape.

"Just at that time an image of the Virgin at the corner
of one of the streets, was mutilated." There was great excitement
in the city. Crowds of people flocked to the place, with expressions
of mourning and indignation. The king also was deeply moved. Here
was an advantage which the monks could turn to good account, and
they were quick to improve it. "These are the fruits of the
doctrines of Berquin," they cried. "All is about to
be overthrown--religion, the laws, the throne itself--by this
Lutheran conspiracy."--Ibid., b. 13, ch. 9.

Again Berquin was apprehended. The king withdrew from Paris,
and the monks were thus left free to work their will. The Reformer
was tried and condemned to die, and lest Francis should even yet
interpose to save him, the sentence was executed on the very day
it was pronounced. At noon Berquin was conducted to the place of death. An immense throng
gathered to witness the event, and there were many who saw with
astonishment and misgiving that the victim had been chosen from
the best and bravest of the noble families of France. Amazement,
indignation, scorn, and bitter hatred darkened the faces of that
surging crowd; but upon one face no shadow rested. The martyr's
thoughts were far from that scene of tumult; he was conscious
only of the presence of his Lord.

The wretched tumbrel upon which he rode, the frowning faces
of his persecutors, the dreadful death to which he was going--these
he heeded not; He who liveth and was dead, and is alive for evermore,
and hath the keys of death and of hell, was beside him. Berquin's
countenance was radiant with the light and peace of heaven. He
had attired himself in goodly raiment, wearing "a cloak of
velvet, a doublet of satin and damask, and golden hose."--D'Aubigne,
History of the Reformation in Europe in the Time of Calvin, b.
2, ch. 16. He was about to testify to his faith in the presence
of the King of kings and the witnessing universe, and no token
of mourning should belie his joy.

As the procession moved slowly through the crowded streets,
the people marked with wonder the unclouded peace, and joyous
triumph, of his look and bearing. "He is," they said,
"like one who sits in a temple, and meditates on holy things."--Wylie,
b. 13, ch. 9.

At the stake, Berquin endeavored to address a few words to
the people; but the monks, fearing the result, began to shout,
and the soldiers to clash their arms, and their clamor drowned
the martyr's voice. Thus in 1529 the highest literary and ecclesiastical
authority of cultured Paris "set the populace of 1793 the
base example of stifling on the scaffold the sacred words of the
dying."--Ibid., b, 13, ch. 9.

Berquin was strangled, and his body was consumed in the flames.
The tidings of his death caused sorrow to the friends of the Reformation
throughout France. But his example was not lost. "We, too, are ready," said the witnesses
for the truth, "to meet death cheerfully, setting our eyes
on the life that is to come."--D'Aubigne, History of the
Reformation in Europe in the Time of Calvin, b. 2, ch. 16.

During the persecution of Meaux, the teachers of the reformed
faith were deprived of their license to preach, and they departed
to other fields. Lefevre after a time made his way to Germany.
Farel returned to his native town in eastern France, to spread
the light in the home of his childhood. Already tidings had been
received of what was going on at Meaux, and the truth, which he
taught with fearless zeal, found listeners. Soon the authorities
were roused to silence him, and he was banished from the city.
Though he could no longer labor publicly, he traversed the plains
and villages, teaching in private dwellings and in secluded meadows,
and finding shelter in the forests and among the rocky caverns
which had been his haunts in boyhood. God was preparing him for
greater trials. "The crosses, persecutions, and machinations
of Satan, of which I was forewarned, have not been wanting,"
he said; "they are even much severer than I could have borne
of myself; but God is my Father; He has provided and always will
provide me the strength which I require."--D'Aubigne, History
of the Reformation of the Sixteenth Century, b. 12, ch. 9.

As in apostolic days, persecution had "fallen out rather
unto the furtherance of the gospel." Philippians 1:12. Driven
from Paris and Meaux, "they that were scattered abroad went
everywhere preaching the word." Acts 8:4. And thus the light
found its way into many of the remote provinces of France.

God was still preparing workers to extend His cause. In one
of the schools of Paris was a thoughtful, quiet youth, already
giving evidence of a powerful and penetrating mind, and no less
marked for the blamelessness of his life than for intellectual
ardor and religious devotion. His genius and application soon
made him the pride of the college, and it was confidently anticipated
that John Calvin would become one of the ablest and most honored defenders of the church.
But a ray of divine light penetrated even within the walls of
scholasticism and superstition by which Calvin was enclosed. He
heard of the new doctrines with a shudder, nothing doubting that
the heretics deserved the fire to which they were given. Yet all
unwittingly he was brought face to face with the heresy and forced
to test the power of Romish theology to combat the Protestant
teaching.

A cousin of Calvin's, who had joined the Reformers, was in
Paris. The two kinsmen often met and discussed together the matters
that were disturbing Christendom. "There are but two religions
in the world," said Olivetan, the Protestant. "The one
class of religions are those which men have invented, in all of
which man saves himself by ceremonies and good works; the other
is that one religion which is revealed in the Bible, and which
teaches man to look for salvation solely from the free grace of
God."

"I will have none of your new doctrines," exclaimed
Calvin; "think you that I have lived in error all my days?"
--Wylie, b. 13, ch. 7.

But thoughts had been awakened in his mind which he could not
banish at will. Alone in his chamber he pondered upon his cousin's
words. Conviction of sin fastened upon him; he saw himself, without
an intercessor, in the presence of a holy and just Judge. The
mediation of saints, good works, the ceremonies of the church,
all were powerless to atone for sin. He could see before him nothing
but the blackness of eternal despair. In vain the doctors of the
church endeavored to relieve his woe. Confession, penance, were
resorted to in vain; they could not reconcile the soul with God.

While still engaged in these fruitless struggles, Calvin, chancing
one day to visit one of the public squares, witnessed there the
burning of a heretic. He was filled with wonder at the expression
of peace which rested upon the martyr's countenance. Amid the
tortures of that dreadful death, and under the more terrible condemnation
of the church, he manifested a faith and courage which the young student
painfully contrasted with his own despair and darkness, while living in
strictest obedience to the church. Upon the Bible, he knew, the
heretics rested their faith. He determined to study it, and discover,
if he could, the secret of their joy.

In the Bible he found Christ. "O Father," he cried,
"His sacrifice has appeased Thy wrath; His blood has washed
away my impurities; His cross has borne my curse; His death has
atoned for me. We had devised for ourselves many useless follies,
but Thou hast placed Thy word before me like a torch, and Thou
hast touched my heart, in order that I may hold in abomination
all other merits save those of Jesus." --Martyn, vol. 3,
ch. 13.

Calvin had been educated for the priesthood. When only twelve
years of age he had been appointed to the chaplaincy of a small
church, and his head had been shorn by the bishop in accordance
with the canon of the church. He did not receive consecration,
nor did he fulfill the duties of a priest, but he became a member
of the clergy, holding the title of his office, and receiving
an allowance in consideration thereof.

Now, feeling that he could never become a priest, he turned
for a time to the study of law, but finally abandoned this purpose
and determined to devote his life to the gospel. But he hesitated
to become a public teacher. He was naturally timid, and was burdened
with a sense of the weighty responsibility of the position, and
he desired still to devote himself to study. The earnest entreaties
of his friends, however, at last won his consent. "Wonderful
it is," he said, "that one of so lowly an origin should
be exalted to so great a dignity."--Wylie, b. 13, ch. 9.

Quietly did Calvin enter upon his work, and his words were
as the dew falling to refresh the earth. He had left Paris, and
was now in a provincial town under the protection of the princess
Margaret, who, loving the gospel, extended her protection to its
disciples. Calvin was still a youth, of gentle, unpretentious bearing. His work began with the people
at their homes. Surrounded by the members of the household, he
read the Bible and opened the truths of salvation. Those who heard
the message carried the good news to others, and soon the teacher
passed beyond the city to the outlying towns and hamlets. To both
the castle and the cabin he found entrance, and he went forward,
laying the foundation of churches that were to yield fearless
witnesses for the truth.

A few months and he was again in Paris. There was unwonted
agitation in the circle of learned men and scholars. The study
of the ancient languages had led men to the Bible, and many whose
hearts were untouched by its truths were eagerly discussing them
and even giving battle to the champions of Romanism. Calvin, though
an able combatant in the fields of theological controversy, had
a higher mission to accomplish than that of these noisy schoolmen.
The minds of men were stirred, and now was the time to open to
them the truth. While the halls of the universities were filled
with the clamor of theological disputation, Calvin was making
his way from house to house, opening the Bible to the people,
and speaking to them of Christ and Him crucified.

In God's providence, Paris was to receive another invitation
to accept the gospel. The call of Lefevre and Farel had been rejected,
but again the message was to be heard by all classes in that great
capital. The king, influenced by political considerations, had
not yet fully sided with Rome against the Reformation. Margaret
still clung to the hope that Protestantism was to triumph in France.
She resolved that the reformed faith should be preached in Paris.
During the absence of the king, she ordered a Protestant minister
to preach in the churches of the city. This being forbidden by
the papal dignitaries, the princess threw open the palace. An
apartment was fitted up as a chapel, and it was announced that
every day, at a specified hour, a sermon would be preached, and
the people of every rank and station were invited to attend.

Crowds flocked to the service. Not only the chapel, but the
antechambers and halls were thronged. Thousands every day assembled--nobles,
statesmen, lawyers, merchants, and artisans. The king, instead
of forbidding the assemblies, ordered that two of the churches
of Paris should be opened. Never before had the city been so moved
by the word of God. The spirit of life from heaven seemed to be
breathed upon the people. Temperance, purity, order, and industry
were taking the place of drunkenness, licentiousness, strife,
and idleness.

But the hierarchy were not idle. The king still refused to
interfere to stop the preaching, and they turned to the populace.
No means were spared to excite the fears, the prejudices, and
the fanaticism of the ignorant and superstitious multitude. Yielding
blindly to her false teachers, Paris, like Jerusalem of old, knew
not the time of her visitation nor the things which belonged unto
her peace. For two years the word of God was preached in the capital;
but, while there were many who accepted the gospel, the majority
of the people rejected it. Francis had made a show of toleration,
merely to serve his own purposes, and the papists succeeded in
regaining the ascendancy. Again the churches were closed, and
the stake was set up.

Calvin was still in Paris, preparing himself by study, meditation,
and prayer for his future labors, and continuing to spread the
light. At last, however, suspicion fastened upon him. The authorities
determined to bring him to the flames. Regarding himself as secure
in his seclusion, he had no thought of danger, when friends came
hurrying to his room with the news that officers were on their
way to arrest him. At that instant a loud knocking was heard at
the outer entrance. There was not a moment to be lost. Some of
his friends detained the officers at the door, while others assisted
the Reformer to let himself down from a window, and he rapidly
made his way to the outskirts of the city. Finding shelter in
the cottage of a laborer who was a friend to the reform, he disguised
himself in the garments of his host, and, shouldering a hoe, started on his journey. Traveling southward,
he again found refuge in the dominions of Margaret. (See D'Aubigne,
History of the Reformation in Europe in the Time of Calvin, b.
2, ch. 30.)

Here for a few months he remained, safe under the protection
of powerful friends, and engaged as before in study. But his heart
was set upon the evangelization of France, and he could not long
remain inactive. As soon as the storm had somewhat abated, he
sought a new field of labor in Poitiers, where was a university,
and where already the new opinions had found favor. Persons of
all classes gladly listened to the gospel. There was no public
preaching, but in the home of the chief magistrate, in his own
lodgings, and sometimes in a public garden, Calvin opened the
words of eternal life to those who desired to listen. After a
time, as the number of hearers increased, it was thought safer
to assemble outside the city. A cave in the side of a deep and
narrow gorge, where trees and overhanging rocks made the seclusion
still more complete, was chosen as the place of meeting. Little
companies, leaving the city by different routes, found their way
hither. In this retired spot the Bible was read aloud and explained.
Here the Lord's Supper was celebrated for the first time by the
Protestants of France. From this little church several faithful
evangelists were sent out.

Once more Calvin returned to Paris. He could not even yet relinquish
the hope that France as a nation would accept the Reformation.
But he found almost every door of labor closed. To teach the gospel
was to take the direct road to the stake, and he at last determined
to depart to Germany. Scarcely had he left France when a storm
burst over the Protestants, that, had he remained, must surely
have involved him in the general ruin.

The French Reformers, eager to see their country keeping pace
with Germany and Switzerland, determined to strike a bold blow
against the superstitions of Rome, that should arouse the whole
nation. Accordingly placards attacking the mass were in one night posted all over France. Instead of advancing
the reform, this zealous but ill-judged movement brought ruin,
not only upon its propagators, but upon the friends of the reformed
faith throughout France. It gave the Romanists what they had long
desired--a pretext for demanding the utter destruction of the
heretics as agitators dangerous to the stability of the throne
and the peace of the nation.

By some secret hand--whether of indiscreet friend or wily foe
was never known--one of the placards was attached to the door
of the king's private chamber. The monarch was filled with horror.
In this paper, superstitions that had received the veneration
of ages were attacked with an unsparing hand. And the unexampled
boldness of obtruding these plain and startling utterances into
the royal presence aroused the wrath of the king. In his amazement
he stood for a little time trembling and speechless. Then his
rage found utterance in the terrible words: "Let all be seized
without distinction who are suspected of Lutheresy. I will exterminate
them all.--Ibid., b. 4, ch. 10. The die was cast. The king had
determined to throw himself fully on the side of Rome.

Measures were at once taken for the arrest of every Lutheran
in Paris. A poor artisan, an adherent of the reformed faith, who
had been accustomed to summon the believers to their secret assemblies,
was seized and, with the threat of instant death at the stake,
was commanded to conduct the papal emissary to the home of every
Protestant in the city. He shrank in horror from the base proposal,
but at last fear of the flames prevailed, and he consented to
become the betrayer of his brethren. Preceded by the host, and
surrounded by a train of priests, incense bearers, monks, and
soldiers, Morin, the royal detective, with the traitor, slowly
and silently passed through the streets of the city. The demonstration
was ostensibly in honor of the "holy sacrament," an
act of expiation for the insult put upon the mass by the protesters.
But beneath this pageant a deadly purpose was concealed. On arriving opposite the house of a Lutheran, the
betrayer made a sign, but no word was uttered. The procession
halted, the house was entered, the family were dragged forth and
chained, and the terrible company went forward in search of fresh
victims. They "spared no house, great or small, not even
the colleges of the University of Paris. . . . Morin made all
the city quake. . . . It was a reign of terror." --Ibid.,
b. 4, ch. 10.

The victims were put to death with cruel torture, it being
specially ordered that the fire should be lowered in order to
prolong their agony. But they died as conquerors. Their constancy
were unshaken, their peace unclouded. Their persecutors, powerless
to move their inflexible firmness, felt themselves defeated. "The
scaffolds were distributed over all the quarters of Paris, and
the burnings followed on successive days, the design being to
spread the terror of heresy by spreading the executions. The advantage,
however, in the end, remained with the gospel. All Paris was enabled
to see what kind of men the new opinions could produce. There
was no pulpit like the martyr's pile. The serene joy that lighted
up the faces of these men as they passed along . . . to the place
of execution, their heroism as they stood amid the bitter flames,
their meek forgiveness of injuries, transformed, in instances
not a few, anger into pity, and hate into love, and pleaded with
resistless eloquence in behalf of the gospel."--Wylie, b.
13, ch. 20.

The priests, bent upon keeping the popular fury at its height,
circulated the most terrible accusations against the Protestants.
They were charged with plotting to massacre the Catholics, to
overthrow the government, and to murder the king. Not a shadow
of evidence could be produced in support of the allegations. Yet
these prophecies of evil were to have a fulfillment; under far
different circumstances, however, and from causes of an opposite
character. The cruelties that were inflicted upon the innocent
Protestants by the Catholics accumulated in a weight of retribution,
and in after centuries wrought the very doom they had predicted
to be impending, upon the king, his government, and his subjects; but it was brought about by infidels and by the papists
themselves. It was not the establishment, but the suppression,
of Protestantism, that, three hundred years later, was to bring
upon France these dire calamities.

Suspicion, distrust, and terror now pervaded all classes of
society. Amid the general alarm it was seen how deep a hold the
Lutheran teaching had gained upon the minds of men who stood highest
for education, influence, and excellence of character. Positions
of trust and honor were suddenly found vacant. Artisans, printers,
scholars, professors in the universities, authors, and even courtiers,
disappeared. Hundreds fled from Paris, self-constituted exiles
from their native land, in many cases thus giving the first intimation
that they favored the reformed faith. The papists looked about
them in amazement at thought of the unsuspected heretics that
had been tolerated among them. Their rage spent itself upon the
multitudes of humbler victims who were within their power. The
prisons were crowded, and the very air seemed darkened with the
smoke of burning piles, kindled for the confessors of the gospel.

Francis I had gloried in being a leader in the great movement
for the revival of learning which marked the opening of the sixteenth
century. He had delighted to gather at his court men of letters
from every country. To his love of learning and his contempt for
the ignorance and superstition of the monks was due, in part at
least, the degree of toleration that had been granted to the reform.
But, inspired with zeal to stamp out heresy, this patron of learning
issued an edict declaring printing abolished all over France!
Francis I presents one among the many examples on record showing
that intellectual culture is not a safeguard against religious
intolerance and persecution.

France by a solemn and public ceremony was to commit herself
fully to the destruction of Protestantism. The priests demanded
that the affront offered to High Heaven in the condemnation of
the mass be expiated in blood, and that the king, in behalf of
his people, publicly give his sanction to the dreadful work.

The 21st of January, 1535, was fixed upon for the awful ceremonial.
The superstitious fears and bigoted hatred of the whole nation
had been roused. Paris was thronged with the multitudes that from
all the surrounding country crowded her streets. The day was to
be ushered in by a vast and imposing procession. "The houses
along the line of march were hung with mourning drapery, and altars
rose at intervals." Before every door was a lighted torch
in honor of the "holy sacrament." Before daybreak the
procession formed at the palace of the king. "First came
the banners and crosses of the several parishes; next appeared
the citizens, walking two and two, and bearing torches."
The four orders of friars followed, each in its own peculiar dress.
Then came a vast collection of famous relics. Following these
rode lordly ecclesiastics in their purple and scarlet robes and
jeweled adornings, a gorgeous and glittering array.

"The host was carried by the bishop of Paris under a magnificent
canopy, . . . supported by four princes of the blood. . . . After
the host walked the king. . . . Francis I on that day wore no
crown, nor robe of state." With "head uncovered, his
eyes cast on the ground, and in his hand a lighted taper,"
the king of France appeared "in the character of a penitent."--Ibid.,
b. 13, ch. 21. At every altar he bowed down in humiliation, nor
for the vices that defiled his soul, nor the innocent blood that
stained his hands, but for the deadly sin of his subjects who
had dared to condemn the mass. Following him came the queen and
the dignitaries of state, also walking two and two, each with
a lighted torch.

As a part of the services of the day the monarch himself addressed
the high officials of the kingdom in the great hall of the bishop's
palace. With a sorrowful countenance he appeared before them and
in words of moving eloquence bewailed "the crime, the blasphemy,
the day of sorrow and disgrace," that had come upon the nation.
And he called upon every loyal subject to aid in the extirpation
of the pestilent heresy that threatened France with ruin. "As
true, messieurs, as I am your king," he said, "if I
knew one of my own limbs spotted or infected with this detestable rottenness,
I would give it you to cut off. . . . And further, if I saw one
of my children defiled by it, I would not spare him. . . . I would
deliver him up myself, and would sacrifice him to God." Tears
choked his utterance, and the whole assembly wept, with one accord
exclaiming: "We will live and die for the Catholic religion!"--D'Aubigne,
History of the Reformation in Europe in the Time of Calvin, b.
4, ch. 12.

Terrible had become the darkness of the nation that had rejected
the light of truth. The grace "that bringeth salvation"
had appeared; but France, after beholding its power and holiness,
after thousands had been drawn by its divine beauty, after cities
and hamlets had been illuminated by its radiance, had turned away,
choosing darkness rather than light. They had put from them the
heavenly gift when it was offered them. They had called evil good,
and good evil, till they had fallen victims to their willful self-deception.
Now, though they might actually believe that they were doing God
service in persecuting His people, yet their sincerity did not
render them guiltless. The light that would have saved them from
deception, from staining their souls with bloodguiltiness, they
had willfully rejected.

A solemn oath to extirpate heresy was taken in the great cathedral
where, nearly three centuries later, the Goddess of Reason was
to be enthroned by a nation that had forgotten the living God.
Again the procession formed, and the representatives of France
set out to begin the work which they had sworn to do. "At
short distances scaffolds had been erected, on which certain Protestant
Christians were to be burned alive, and it was arranged that the
fagots should be lighted at the moment the king approached, and
that the procession should halt to witness the execution."--Wylie,
b. 13, ch. 21. The details of the tortures endured by these witnesses
for Christ are too harrowing for recital; but there was no wavering
on the part of the victims. On being urged to recant, one answered:
"I only believe in what the prophets and the apostles formerly
preached, and what all the company of saints believed. My faith has a confidence in God which will
resist all the powers of hell."--D'Aubigne, History of the
Reformation in Europe in the Time of Calvin, b. 4, ch. 12.

Again and again the procession halted at the places of torture.
Upon reaching their starting point at the royal palace, the crowd
dispersed, and the king and the prelates withdrew, well satisfied
with the day's proceedings and congratulating themselves that
the work now begun would be continued to the complete destruction
of heresy.

The gospel of peace which France had rejected was to be only
too surely rooted out, and terrible would be the results. On the
21st of January, 1793, two hundred and fifty-eight years from
the very day that fully committed France to the persecution of
the Reformers, another procession, with a far different purpose,
passed through the streets of Paris. "Again the king was
the chief figure; again there were tumult and shouting; again
there was heard the cry for more victims; again there were black
scaffolds; and again the scenes of the day were closed by horrid
executions; Louis XVI, struggling hand to hand with his jailers
and executioners, was dragged forward to the block, and there
held down by main force till the ax had fallen, and his dissevered
head rolled on the scaffold."--Wylie, b. 13, ch. 21. Nor
was the king the only victim; near the same spot two thousand
and eight hundred human beings perished by the guillotine during
the bloody days of the Reign of Terror.

The Reformation had presented to the world an open Bible, unsealing
the precepts of the law of God and urging its claims upon the
consciences of the people. Infinite Love had unfolded to men the
statutes and principles of heaven. God had said: "Keep therefore
and do them; for this is your wisdom and your understanding in
the sight of the nations, which shall hear all these statutes,
and say, Surely this great nation is a wise and understanding
people." Deuteronomy 4:6. When France rejected the gift of
heaven, she sowed the seeds of anarchy and ruin; and the inevitable
outworking of cause and effect resulted in the Revolution and
the Reign of Terror.

Long before the persecution excited by the placards, the bold
and ardent Farel had been forced to flee from the land of his
birth. He repaired to Switzerland, and by his labors, seconding
the work of Zwingli, he helped to turn the scale in favor of the
Reformation. His later years were to be spent here, yet he continued
to exert a decided influence upon the reform in France. During
the first years of his exile, his efforts were especially directed
to spreading the gospel in his native country. He spent considerable
time in preaching among his countrymen near the frontier, where
with tireless vigilance he watched the conflict and aided by his
words of encouragement and counsel. With the assistance of other
exiles, the writings of the German Reformers were translated into
the French language and, together with the French Bible, were
printed in large quantities. By colporteurs these works were sold
extensively in France. They were furnished to the colporteurs
at a low price, and thus the profits of the work enabled them
to continue it.

Farel entered upon his work in Switzerland in the humble guise
of a schoolmaster. Repairing to a secluded parish, he devoted
himself to the instruction of children. Besides the usual branches of learning, he cautiously introduced the truths of the Bible, hoping through the children to reach the parents. There were some who believed, but the priests came forward to stop the work, and the superstitious country people were roused to oppose it. "That cannot be the gospel of Christ," urged the priest, "seeing the preaching of it does not bring peace, but war."--Wylie, b. 14, ch. 3. Like the first disciples, when persecuted in one city he fled to another. From village to village, from city to city, he went, traveling on foot, enduring hunger, cold, and weariness, and everywhere in peril of his life. He preached in the market places, in the churches, sometimes in the pulpits of the cathedrals. Sometimes he found the church empty of hearers; at times his preaching was interrupted by shouts and jeers; again he was pulled violently out of the pulpit. More than once he was set upon by the rabble and beaten almost to death. Yet he pressed forward. Though often repulsed, with unwearying persistence he returned to the attack; and, one after another, he saw towns and cities which had been strongholds of popery, opening their gates to the gospel. The little parish where he had first labored soon accepted the reformed faith. The cities of Morat and Neuchatel also renounced the Romish rites and removed the idolatrous images from their churches.

Farel had long desired to plant the Protestant standard in Geneva. If this city could be won, it would be a center for the Reformation in France, in Switzerland, and in Italy. With this object before him, he had continued his labors until many of the surrounding towns and hamlets had been gained. Then with a single companion he entered Geneva. But only two sermons was he permitted to preach. The priests, having vainly endeavored to secure his condemnation by the civil authorities, summoned him before an ecclesiastical council, to which they came with arms concealed under their robes, determined to take his life. Outside the hall, a furious mob, with clubs and swords, was gathered to make sure of his death if he should succeed in escaping the council. The presence of magistrates and an armed force, however, saved him. Early next morning he was conducted, with his companion, across the lake to a place of safety. Thus ended his first effort to evangelize Geneva.

For the next trial a lowlier instrument was chosen--a young man, so humble in appearance that he was coldly treated even by the professed friends of reform. But what could such a one do where Farel had been rejected? How could one of little courage and experience withstand the tempest before which the strongest and bravest had been forced to flee? "Not by might, nor by power, but by My Spirit, saith the Lord." Zechariah 4:6. "God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things which are mighty." "Because the foolishness of God is wiser than men; and the weakness of God is stronger than men." 1 Corinthians 1:27, 25.

Froment began his work as a schoolmaster. The truths which he taught the children at school they repeated at their homes. Soon the parents came to hear the Bible explained, until the schoolroom was filled with attentive listeners. New Testaments and tracts were freely distributed, and they reached many who dared not come openly to listen to the new doctrines. After a time this laborer also was forced to flee; but the truths he taught had taken hold upon the minds of the people. The Reformation had been planted, and it continued to strengthen and extend. The preachers returned, and through their labors the Protestant worship was finally established in Geneva.

The city had already declared for the Reformation when Calvin, after various wanderings and vicissitudes, entered its gates. Returning from a last visit to his birthplace, he was on his way to Basel, when, finding the direct road occupied by the armies of Charles V, he was forced to take the circuitous route by Geneva.

In this visit Farel recognized the hand of God. Though Geneva had accepted the reformed faith, yet a great work remained to be accomplished here. It is not as communities but as individuals that men are converted to God; the work of regeneration must be wrought in the heart and conscience by the power of the Holy Spirit, not by the decrees of councils. While the people of Geneva had cast off the authority of Rome, they were not so ready to renounce the vices that had flourished under her rule. To establish here the pure principles of the gospel and to prepare this people to fill worthily the position to which Providence seemed calling them were not light tasks.

Farel was confident that he had found in Calvin one whom he could unite with himself in this work. In the name of God he solemnly adjured the young evangelist to remain and labor here. Calvin drew back in alarm. Timid and peace-loving, he shrank from contact with the bold, independent, and even violent spirit of the Genevese. The feebleness of his health, together with his studious habits, led him to seek retirement. Believing that by his pen he could best serve the cause of reform, he desired to find a quiet retreat for study, and there, through the press, instruct and build up the churches. But Farel's solemn admonition came to him as a call from Heaven, and he dared not refuse. It seemed to him, he said, "that the hand of God was stretched down from heaven, that it lay hold of him, and fixed him irrevocably to the place he was so impatient to leave."-- D'Aubigne, History of the Reformation in Europe in the Time of Calvin, b. 9, ch. 17.

At this time great perils surrounded the Protestant cause. The anathemas of the pope thundered against Geneva, and mighty nations threatened it with destruction. How was this little city to resist the powerful hierarchy that had so often forced kings and emperors to submission? How could it stand against the armies of the world's great conquerors?

Throughout Christendom, Protestantism was menaced by formidable foes. The first triumphs of the Reformation past, Rome summoned new forces, hoping to accomplish its destruction. At this time the order of the Jesuits was created, the most cruel, unscrupulous, and powerful of all the champions of popery. Cut off from earthly ties and human interests, dead to the claims of natural affection, reason and conscience wholly silenced, they knew no rule, no tie, but that of their order, and no duty but to extend its power.
(See Appendix.) The gospel of Christ had enabled its adherents to meet danger and endure suffering, undismayed by cold, hunger, toil, and poverty, to uphold the banner of truth in face of the rack, the dungeon, and the stake. To combat these forces, Jesuitism inspired its followers with a fanaticism that enabled them to endure like dangers, and to oppose to the power of truth all the weapons of deception. There was no crime too great for them to commit, no deception too base for them to practice, no disguise too difficult for them to assume. Vowed to perpetual poverty and humility, it was their studied aim to secure wealth and power, to be devoted to the overthrow of Protestantism, and the re-establishment of the papal supremacy.

When appearing as members of their order, they wore a garb of sanctity, visiting prisons and hospitals, ministering to the sick and the poor, professing to have renounced the world, and bearing the sacred name of Jesus, who went about doing good. But under this blameless exterior the most criminal and deadly purposes were often concealed. It was a fundamental principle of the order that the end justifies the means. By this code, lying, theft, perjury, assassination, were not only pardonable but commendable, when they served the interests of the church. Under various disguises the Jesuits worked their way into offices of state, climbing up to be the counselors of kings, and shaping the policy of nations. They became servants to act as spies upon their masters. They established colleges for the sons of princes and nobles, and schools for the common people; and the children of Protestant parents were drawn into an observance of popish rites. All the outward pomp and display of the Romish worship was brought to bear to confuse the mind and dazzle and captivate the imagination, and thus the liberty for which the fathers had toiled and bled was betrayed by the sons. The Jesuits rapidly spread themselves over Europe, and wherever they went, there followed a revival of popery.

To give them greater power, a bull was issued re-establishing the inquisition.
(See Appendix.) Notwithstanding the general abhorrence with which it was regarded, even in Catholic countries, this terrible tribunal was again set up by popish rulers, and atrocities too terrible to bear the light of day were repeated in its secret dungeons. In many countries, thousands upon thousands of the very flower of the nation, the purest and noblest, the most intellectual and highly educated, pious and devoted pastors, industrious and patriotic citizens, brilliant scholars, talented artists, skillful artisans, were slain or forced to flee to other lands.

Such were the means which Rome had invoked to quench the light of the Reformation, to withdraw from men the Bible, and to restore the ignorance and superstition of the Dark Ages. But under God's blessing and the labors of those noble men whom He had raised up to succeed Luther, Protestantism was not overthrown. Not to the favor or arms of princes was it to owe its strength. The smallest countries, the humblest and least powerful nations, became its strongholds. It was little Geneva in the midst of mighty foes plotting her destruction; it was Holland on her sandbanks by the northern sea, wrestling against the tyranny of Spain, then the greatest and most opulent of kingdoms; it was bleak, sterile Sweden, that gained victories for the Reformation.

For nearly thirty years Calvin labored at Geneva, first to establish there a church adhering to the morality of the Bible, and then for the advancement of the Reformation throughout Europe. His course as a public leader was not faultless, nor were his doctrines free from error. But he was instrumental in promulgating truths that were of special importance in his time, in maintaining the principles of Protestantism against the fast-returning tide of popery, and in promoting in the reformed churches simplicity and purity of life, in place of the pride and corruption fostered under the Romish teaching.

From Geneva, publications and teachers went out to spread the reformed doctrines. To this point the persecuted of all lands looked for instruction, counsel, and encouragement. The city of Calvin became a refuge for the hunted Reformers of all Western Europe. Fleeing from the awful tempests that continued for centuries, the fugitives came to the gates of Geneva. Starving, wounded, bereft of home and kindred, they were warmly welcomed and tenderly cared for; and finding a home here, they blessed the city of their adoption by their skill, their learning, and their piety. Many who sought here a refuge returned to their own countries to resist the tyranny of Rome. John Knox, the brave Scotch Reformer, not a few of the English Puritans, the Protestants of Holland and of Spain, and the Huguenots of France carried from Geneva the torch of truth to lighten the darkness of their native lands.